A MOTORCYCLE ADVENTURE BLOG​

​How to cure a hangover​​

A low thump pulsed nearby disturbing my sleep. Heavy eyelids cracked open to find white painful light searing through. The thump grew louder in intensity. Dan nonchalantly meandered about the room packing up. I rolled over. The thumping rolled with me, only it didn't stop, it continued to roll within the empty space of my mind cascading into a nauseating sense of falling. I crunched my eyes shut. What a hangover. I know the obvious way of how to cure a hangover, soon I was on the street eating an Indian curry and a fresh watermelon juice convincing myself that everyone knows how good an Indian breakfast curry quickly cures a hangover. Feeling human again my concern was now focused on Luke’s Bike the TTR, an oil and filter change revealed shards of metal in the oil filter. Dan inspected and diagnosed quickly – valve seals needed replacing. A young sharply dressed Indonesian guy stood by, I had noticed previously missing fingers and a gnarly scar which had clearly been stapled shut on his left forearm. He had the presence of a young Mafia figure. He looked interested in our bikes. Stepping forward he smiled and asked if anything was wrong. Turned out he was a bike mechanic who specialised in making small engines go fast, in fact he had made a 135cc engine which got him to the speed of 220 k/hr. which is when he fell off. This explained the scars but not my assumptions. Revving the TTR’s engine with an ear close to the motor he confidently claimed that Luke required a new piston ring. I was left wondering if an Indian curry shoved into the bikes oil hole would have the same healing effect it had on me. With this to consider we loaded up and rolled out Twenty One Horses style 4 hours late.

Leaving Kuala Lumpur via the Road system is as easy and impressive as it was upon entry. With motor bikes permitted on the motor-ways for free it was a simple process of joining the motor bike lane and speeding around the massive toll stations. It was mid-afternoon with nothing to do but smash our faces into the wind while holding throttle’s wide open -then slowing down a little to wait for Luke to catch up while he nursed the TTR along. The motor-ways continued to roll north skirted by well-maintained green areas either side. In one place for no apparent reason the shrubberies on either side of the road where trimmed into fancy spirals shapes which lasted for K’s. Geomorphic mountain structures sporadically appeared along the way covered in lush green forest occasionally showing rocky cliff faces where trees dared not grow. We passed by one massive mountain structure which was cut into and mined for his sweet hard granite mountain guts. The wound was massive but compared to the mountain man paled into insignificance – I bet he must laugh with his mountain mates that the weeny humans hurt him not.

The mountain men warn us of the coming rain by wearing hats of angry clouds. And soon we faced a wall of water. The rain was abnormally wet. Taking the opportunity at an overpass we pulled in to don our rain gear and chat to lady friends at home. Apparently the overpass was a happening spot and soon was full of peeps on scooters and bikes sheltering from the wet rain. I am at this point confident that the Sherpa is now a water proof machine, and while I put my raincoat on and camera away I take no precaution in guarding the Sherpa from the wet rain. After an hours downtime we once again roll out onto the motor-way to find patchy rain but nothing to wet.

Night time rolls in bringing his old mate torrential down pour along for the party. With about 100 k’s to go the unusually wet Malaysian rain attacks the Sherpa and I’m left rolling at 100km/hr. on a stalled motorcycle who just lost his best friend. Swearing doesn’t start the engine and I roll to a stop. Fortunately I have comms with Dan who doubles back to take a look.

Quickly deciding it’s no good looking in the rain I jump back on while Dan rides by my side with an out stretched leg pushing me down the side of a dark, wet motor-way. Some distance later we arrive under the dry-ness of an over pass. I start by removing the seat, plastic fenders and fuel tank, allowing access into the sacred bike bits. Dan is convinced that the Sherpa suffers from a week spark while I ponder if it could be exashabeted by the iridium spark plug. With no other options Dan helps me install my old spark plug. While this is happening Dan’s mind is turning over the problem. Suddenly Dan’s eyes light up and he places both hands on a piece of rubber that I have meticulously glued to the perch I made which supports my 22 L after-market fuel tank- explaining that we need to rip it off and place in front of the motor to act as a water shield. I am not convinced – surely bike bits can get wet and still operate? And besides I don’t think Dan noticed how neatly I have cut this rubber. Luke – on the same wave length as Dan, has been on a scavenger hunt and returns with a length of a strange material that appears to be water proof. Dan approves appropriate and fashions a water shield for the Sherpa’s vulnerable bike bits. It is reasoned that when I removed the original tank I also removed a similar shield. Having been won over in the face of logic and lack of alternatives, I put the Sherpa back together and roll out into the wet rain…The rain is now no match for the mighty Sherpa, having made up, we speed of into the distance…